


brighter things than diamonds

by Quintessence



Series: h/c bingo requests [1]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: 5+1 Things, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, but really pining gon rights 2kforever, gon's abandonment issues, it's a 5+1 like it's 2015 or something i know let me live pls, so here i am, we as a fandom do not write enough pining gon, you can't tell me he wouldn't have them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:28:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24136624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quintessence/pseuds/Quintessence
Summary: "Gon knows he shouldn’t feel like this.  He knows that what he’s set out to do, this kindness he’s trying to show to Killua, is supposed to be selfless.  It’s supposed to be only about Killua’s needs, not the desire that simmers at a low boil under Gon’s skin every moment he’s near him.  And yet Gon can’t help it, can’t help but imagine joining Killua in his bed, slinging an arm over his waist and pressing his face into Killua’s neck, falling asleep curled up beside him.  It’s selfish, to make all this about himself, about his yearning and longing and desperation, so Gon resolves himself to do better.  He’ll push those thoughts quite firmly out of his mind.  He’ll focus only on making Killua feel happy.  He won’t allow his desires to corrupt what he’s set out to do.  He won’t be selfish.  He won’t."5 times Killua accepted kindness + 1 he refused
Relationships: Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck
Series: h/c bingo requests [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1741759
Comments: 133
Kudos: 792





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Stylographic_Blue_Rhapsody](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stylographic_Blue_Rhapsody/gifts).



> okay this was a request for "hxh/killugon + learning to be loved" that got, uh, pretty wildly out of hand. i was really trying to hold off on sharing it until i had the whole thing written, but i just felt a desire to post what i have tonight & in times such as these, who am i not to indulge the every impulse of my tiny goblin brain??
> 
> title is from the young thousands by the mountain goats.
> 
> there's another ch on the way shortly, so pls know it doesn't end here!!!
> 
> alright, enjoy, my friends!!!

Gon notices it slowly. Over years, in fact. It’s not obvious at first, but the pieces come together over time, certain strange things about Killua that add up into a rather undeniable pattern.

Killua never wears enough layers in the winter. Gon doesn’t think Killua even owns a winter coat, and certainly no hats or gloves. He simply heads out into the biting winter chill, into sleet and snow and rain, without anything to keep himself warm. And at night, he sleeps with nothing but a thin, scratchy blanket, hardly long enough to reach down to his feet. When Gon had asked him about it, Killua had merely shrugged, and said, “It’s just what I’m used to,” and quickly changed the subject.

And perhaps Gon could accept that. Perhaps he could believe that Killua simply doesn’t mind being cold, that he really just has grown accustomed to it. But there’s more strange, persistent quirks. On the rare occasions Gon tries to touch Killua, pull him into an embrace or lead him somewhere by the hand, Killua stiffens. He doesn’t reciprocate, grasp Gon’s hand in his own or wrap his arms around him. He merely goes very quiet and very still and pulls back just as soon as Gon releases his hold.

And then there’s the matter of praise, how any time Gon says something kind to Killua, compliments him, tells him he’s strong or smart or important, Killua gets very uncomfortable. And not in the bashful, modest, demure sort of way. It’s genuine and visceral, Gon’s sure of it, Killua’s discomfort at being spoken to kindly.

There’s how odd Killua acts about gifts, even small, unimportant ones. Gon had bought Killua a soda at a cafe last week despite his protests, and he hadn’t so much as touched it, just sat there, staring at it with a strange intensity. It had hardly cost Gon a handful of Jenny, but Killua still couldn’t bring himself to drink it.

Gon’s not a brilliant mind. He’s the first to admit it. But recognizing this pattern doesn’t take much careful, considered thought; the pieces all but come together on their own. It’s clear, after observing Killua for years, that he holds a very strange opinion of himself. A very strange opinion of what he deserves, what he should have and what he should be denied. An opinion Gon doesn’t like at all.

And Gon intends to do something about it. Of course he does. He won’t allow this to continue any longer, this resistance Killua has to being treated kindly. This feeling of being undeserving. It’ll be a challenge, certainly, to try to change Killua’s mind about something so primal and deeply held, but Gon has never known himself to back down from a challenge. So he’ll do it. He’ll pile kindness upon kindness on Killua until he at last wears him down, until Killua is surrounded by so much gentleness and affection that he finally loses the will to resist.

**1.**

Gon starts small.

As a grey November chill settles into Yorknew City, as the days grow darker and colder, as winter slowly and steadily approaches, Gon buys Killua a scarf. It’s nothing fancy. Nothing expensive. But it’s nice all the same, thick and soft and very warm, the yarn a deep, rich blue. In Gon’s opinion, Killua could sorely use more soft things.

Gon’s very deliberate about how to give it to him. If he treats it like a gift, wraps it in tissue paper and ribbon and generally makes a fuss, he won’t have a chance. No, he needs to catch Killua off guard, shove it into his hands and not leave the time for an argument. He needs to be so quick and insistent that by the time Killua realizes what’s happening, it’s already too late to refuse. He needs to ambush him.

So Gon waits until a particularly cold, bleak afternoon in late November, when he and Killua are headed out to get some groceries. Killua’s putting on his shoes, wearing nothing more than jeans and a flannel shirt despite the frigid weather. This is it. Gon can give it to him and then hurry them both out the door and Killua won’t have a chance to refuse. Gon gets his coat from the closet, then digs into the box where he hid the scarf.

“You ready?” Killua calls from the door.

“Just a second,” Gon replies, closing the closet door. He walks towards Killua purposefully, not faltering or hesitating. He has to appear confident and composed, can’t leave an opening for Killua to say no.

“Here,” Gon says brightly, throwing the scarf around Killua’s neck. Killua tenses.

“What’s this?” he asks, tone suspicious.

“It’s to keep you warm.”

Killua looks away from Gon, staring at a spot on the carpet just to his left.

“You know I don’t get cold.”

It’s a lie. Gon knows it. He’s seen how Killua’s lips and fingers go blue in the cold, how he’s tense and shivery for hours after he’s been out. It’s the kind of cold that goes deep, right into a person’s bones, the kind that takes hours to warm up from again. But Gon knows that arguing that point won’t do him any good, not with Killua.

“It’s a gift, Killua,” he says simply. “Don’t refuse it; that’s rude”

Killua frowns and scuffs his shoe against the carpet. And Gon waits, hardly daring to breathe. This is the moment that decides it all, whether Killua will allow himself this kindness or continue denying himself even the most basic of comforts. A second passes, agonizingly slow. Then another. Then another.

“Fine,” Killua says at last. Gon does his utmost not to let his joy show on his face.

Gon takes the ends of the scarf in one hand and loops it through the other side; it’ll be warmer wrapped tightly around Killua’s neck like that. He wraps the scarf gently, with care, the way Mito would bundle him up when he was a child. He makes sure that it rests just so, as warm and comfortable as he can make it, before letting his hand linger just a moment atop the loop, right over Killua’s heart. The fabric is thick, but Gon likes to imagine Killua can feel it nonetheless.

Killua goes abruptly red and tears his gaze away from Gon, head ducking to stare at the floor.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Gon says. “It’s warm.”

Killua hesitates for just a moment.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “It’s warm.”

Gon smiles.

“Good. I always want you to be warm.”

Killua abruptly looks up at Gon, his eyes wide and disarmed with surprise and embarrassment and something else Gon can’t quite place.

“Well, let’s go, huh? We want to get there before it gets too busy.”

Killua hesitates for just a moment, looking a bit dazed.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

Gon leads them out the door and down the sidewalk, pride and happiness swelling large and warm in his chest. It had gone well, hadn’t it? His first attempt at showing Killua this sort of deliberate kindness. It’s not much, certainly, that Killua will be just a bit warmer this afternoon, that he won’t force himself to suffer so needlessly, but it’s a start. Killua is slightly more comfortable, slightly more cared for, has one more soft thing that he did yesterday, and that’s not nothing. And if Gon notices Killua tucking his chin down further into the scarf on their walk to the grocery store, wearing something very close to a smile, he doesn’t feel the need to mention it.

**2.**

Gon sits on the couch in the living room, tense and fretful, straining to listen for the occasional snatches of conversation from Killua’s bedroom.

It’s not that Gon means to eavesdrop. It’s just that Killua’s on the phone with his mother, and from the tired, edgy tone of his voice, the conversation is going as well as it usually does. No doubt Kikyo is up to her usual tricks, the guilt and manipulation, the shame and disapproval, the unique way she has of burrowing under Killua’s skin and convincing him of his own inherent wrongness. Convincing him that he’s somehow tainted and stained and unworthy. That he’s only good for killing, not a creature fit for kindness and affection and comfort.

Gon’s noticed how Killua gets after these conversations. The deprivation business only gets worse. Killua will hardly eat, even if Gon makes him his favorite things, claiming not to be hungry. He won’t permit himself to sleep. He won’t allow himself anything he enjoys, like a hot, sweet cup of coffee or an evening spent playing video games with Gon or an hour spent basking in the sunshine on their balcony. He merely trains and trains, only stopping when he vomits or collapses, and even then sometimes getting back up and forcing himself to continue. He refuses anything nice, anything that isn’t pain or discomfort or exhaustion. And this awful, self-imposed punishment can carry on for a week or more, will persist and persist until Killua at last seems to think he’s atoned for some intangible wrong.

And Gon simply can’t stand it, that woman getting in Killua’s head like that. He hates that she can make Killua, extraordinary and kind and utterly perfect Killua, feel such worthlessness and self-loathing. Make him decide to punish himself for some fabricated transgression. Killua’s suffered enough at the hands of his family. He’s known enough cruelty and pain and unhappiness. He’s finally free, finally away from the people who’ve caused him such misery for so long. Gon isn’t going to permit them to keep hurting him still.

So Gon gets up from the couch and heads to the bathroom and turns on the faucet in the bath, testing the water to make sure it’s exactly the temperature Killua likes--just this side of scalding. He then digs in the cabinet under the sink, pushing aside cleaning supplies and toilet paper and spare tubes of toothpaste, to a bottle against the far back wall. He takes it and dumps a generous amount underneath the faucet, watching as thick, aromatic bubbles form in the tub. He waits, checking the temperature of the water every so often, adding a bit more bubbles now and then, until the bath is full. 

When the whole thing is steaming and smelling wonderful, Gon gets Killua. He’s sitting on the couch in the living room, back straight and feet flat on the floor, staring into space and gnawing on a fingernail. His face is pale and drawn and it makes Gon’s heart clench in his chest.

“Killua?”

Killua jumps, breaking from his daze and blinking up at Gon with wide eyes.

“Come with me, okay?”

Killua merely nods, wordlessly, and follows Gon into the bathroom. The scarf had gone well, all things considered, but there’s no guarantee that this gesture will go as smoothly. Especially not when Killua’s just spoken to Kikyo, is in that particular frame of mind that makes him even more determined to punish himself. But that only makes it more important, this particular kindness. Now more than ever, Gon has to prove to Killua he’s deserving of these sorts of things.

“Here,” Gon says brightly, gesturing towards the bathtub.

Killua hesitates for a moment, brow furrowing.

“A bubble bath?” he says, tone disapproving. “Gon, I’m eighteen.”

This is it. Gon has to convince him to accept this kindness. Somehow, he has to make Killua permit himself warmth and comfort and happiness.

“But I went to all this trouble,” Gon all but whines. “You’re really going to refuse? After I put in that effort?”

It’s an underhanded tactic, fine, but Gon has to use whatever means necessary.

Killua hesitates for a moment, staring at the bathtub and gnawing his lower lip. Gon waits, an odd nervousness churning in his stomach. A drop of water drips from the faucet into the tub, impossibly loud. Killua sighs. Closes his eyes for a moment. Opens them again. Lowers his shoulders.

“Fine,” he says at last. “But I’m not taking a bath with you in here. Get out.”

Gon doesn’t smile until he’s outside the bathroom, door shut securely behind him. But then he beams, clenching his fists in triumph. That one had been harder, the odds lower, but it had worked. Killua had allowed himself a happiness, however small.

Gon lingers outside the bathroom door, listening closely. There’s the unmistakable sound of Killua lowering himself into the bath, and then a very quiet but very contented sigh. Gon’s heart soars. Killua is relaxed and warm and happy. There are few greater joys in Gon’s life than that.

And two hours later, when Gon knocks on Killua’s door to ask him what he’d like for dinner tonight only to find Killua splayed out across his bed in an oversized t-shirt and cut off sweatpants, sleeping soundly, he’s overcome with an affection that knocks the air from his lungs. Gon shuts Killua’s bedroom door, presses his back against it, and slides to the ground, heart hammering in his chest. He does his best to memorize this feeling, this particular breathlessness, the exact speed of his racing heart, this overwhelming joy at seeing Killua happy and relaxed. 

The urge to sneak into Killua’s room, brush his hair back and press a kiss to his forehead, is sudden and profound. Gon knows he shouldn’t feel like this. He knows that what he’s set out to do, this kindness he’s trying to show to Killua, is supposed to be selfless. It’s supposed to be only about Killua’s needs, not the desire that simmers at a low boil under Gon’s skin every moment he’s near him. And yet Gon can’t help it, can’t help but imagine joining Killua in his bed, slinging an arm over his waist and pressing his face into Killua’s neck, falling asleep curled up beside him. It’s selfish, to make all this about himself, about his yearning and longing and desperation, so Gon resolves himself to do better. He’ll push those thoughts quite firmly out of his mind. He’ll focus only on making Killua feel happy. He won’t allow his desires to corrupt what he’s set out to do. He won’t be selfish. He won’t.

**3.**

Gon’s resolution doesn’t last long.

It’s so easy to justify. Killua’s sprawled on the couch, playing a game on some handheld console Gon doesn’t know the name of--he’s not good at keeping track of that sort of thing--and it’s so easy to tell himself that this is selfless. It’s so easy for Gon to rationalize, to say that physical affection is one of the many things Killua denies himself and that if Gon were to touch him, it would solely be for Killua’s sake. To tell himself that it has nothing to do with how clean and fluffy and cloud-like Killua’s hair looks, or that endearing, determined frown he’s wearing while he plays, or how Gon can’t help but wonder if Killua’s pale skin feels as soft and delicate as it looks. It’s so easy for Gon to convince himself of this as he joins Killua on the couch and presses up against his side, resting his head on Killua’s shoulder.

Immediately, Killua’s body goes tense.

“What are you doing?” he asks, with just an edge of defensiveness.

“Nothing really,” Gon says. “Do you mind it?”

Killua goes very still and quiet for a moment. The character on the screen fails to dodge the bullets and gets hit dead on, HP dropping to zero. A game over screen appears, the words in big, bold letters, and a soft, almost mournful song begins to play. “Continue?” the game prompts.

“Whatever,” Killua says, pressing “Continue.” “It doesn’t really matter to me.”

Gon settles more comfortably against Killua’s side with a contented sigh. Immediately, Killua gets hit again in the game, failing to dodge an attack that looked easy even to a player as inexperienced as Gon.

“Are you always this bad at this game?” Gon teases.

Killua stiffens.

“I’m, um, just having an off day, I think,” he mutters.

Gon waits for several long minutes until Killua clears the level, and then slowly, giving him every chance to refuse, wraps an arm around Killua, pulling him flush to his side. It feels wonderful, Killua in Gon’s arms. Wonderful in a way that refuses the confines of language, a certain warm, exhilarated contentment that Gon can’t find the words to describe. It’s the sort of thing that can only be felt in a person’s body, he decides, a happiness that can’t be described.

Killua doesn’t protest or pull back. If anything, he leans in closer to Gon, his body relaxed and heavy against Gon’s side. Gon shouldn’t be so happy holding him; he knows this. It’s meant to be about Killua, after all, about showing him kindness and affection, not about what Gon wants, but he finds he can’t will away the warmth and comfort of Killua in his arms, try as he might.

“No one’s ever done this for me,” Killua says softly.

Gon pulls Killua just a bit tighter.

“Done what?”

“Just… this,” he says. He saves his game and sets it aside and leans heavier still against Gon.

“Touched you, you mean?”

Killua hums, sounding so perfectly relaxed and content.

“Yeah,” he says, voice hardly above a whisper. “Not like this. Not nicely, I guess. Not without it meaning to hurt.”

Gon’s heart clenches so suddenly and acutely.

“You deserve that,” he says softly. “You deserve to be touched gently.”

Killua doesn’t say anything, just rubs his face slightly against Gon’s chest. It reminds him of a cat in the most endearing way.

This is so unforgivably reckless; Gon knows this. This is playing chicken with a speeding train. This is grasping a knife loosely by the blade. Gon could ruin everything in an instant, could press a kiss to Killua’s hair or confess his feelings or do something else he’s bound to regret. He shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be holding Killua and talking like this, for fear of losing his control for just a brief moment and doing something that can’t be undone. It’ll catch up to him; he’s certain of it. One day, sooner rather than later, he’s going to make a mistake. He won’t leap out of the way of the train in time. His hand will tighten around the blade. And it’ll happen in an instant, the disaster. And Gon will be left bloody and trembling and alone. He should get up, if he knows what’s good for him. If he knows what’s good for him, he should walk away and resolve to stop all of this immediately.

Gon, however, has rarely known what’s good for him.

**4.**

The kitchen is an utter disaster. Sugar and flour coat the countertops like a light snowfall. Cocoa powder is smudged along the front of the cabinets and on top of the stove. The trashcan is overflowing with discarded boxes and bags. Gon doesn’t even want to begin to contemplate the teetering tower of dishes he has piled in the sink. But it’s worth it, all the cleaning and drudgery he’ll have to do eventually, because he’s making Killua a cake.

He’s done the whole thing from scratch--even the bowl of frosting he has waiting for when the cake’s baked and cooled is homemade. It took the better part of an afternoon simply to get the thing into the oven. Gon can’t fathom how Mito baked nearly every week when he was a child; it’s a rather absurd amount of work for one singular cake.

But all that matters is that when Killua comes home from his errands, he’ll have something special waiting for him. Gon will get to hand him a slice with a smile, and Killua will feel happy and cared for.

And yes, of course there’s Gon’s own motives coming into this. Of course Gon gets a warm, delighted thrill from watching Killua enjoy something he had made. Gon’s not proud of it, how he can’t manage to do anything truly selflessly, but he finds he really can’t help it, how happy he’ll be watching Killua take a bite with a smile.

“Oh, what smells good?” Killua asks, heading into the kitchen. Gon starts slightly at his voice. He’d been so lost in his daydream he hadn’t noticed Killua come in.

“I’m making a cake,” Gon says brightly.

Killua leans a hand onto the counter.

“What’s the occasion?”

Gon shrugs.

“Just wanted to do something nice for you, I guess.”

Killua is quiet for a long moment, clearly thinking.

“Well, thanks,” he says softly. 

He doesn’t refuse the gesture this time, and that’s something, but there’s a strange sort of melancholy in his tone. And Gon simply won’t stand for it, won’t let Killua begin to convince himself that this is somehow undeserved.

“It’s not done, but you can try the frosting,” Gon says, swiftly changing the subject and holding up the spatula with a smile. He refuses to let Killua start thinking himself out of accepting this.

Killua takes the spatula and wipes a finger through the frosting and brings it to his mouth and all at once, it’s a car crash. Time slows down, seconds dragging on and impossibly on, and Gon realizes he’s made a terrible mistake. Killua puts his finger in his mouth, lips pursing so perfectly around it, and the tires squeal, the whole thing spinning wildly out of control. Gon tries to hit the brakes, tries to slow down, tries to brace for impact as best he can, but it’s hopeless. It’s coming and there’s not a damn thing he can do about it, not a thing beyond praying that he’ll survive, that he’ll come out as intact as is possible.

Killua lowers his hand from his mouth and smiles. He has a bit of chocolate on his right cheek, just to the side of his mouth; some of the frosting must’ve gotten on his knuckles and wiped off.

“It’s really good,” Killua says.

This is it. This is the moment of impact. The point of no return. Beyond the terror, the only thing Gon can feel is profound regret. If only he’d done one thing differently. One thing and he would’ve averted disaster. If only.

“You have something on your face,” Gon says, voice low and hoarse.

He reaches his hand up to Killua’s face, cradles his cheek with his fingers and wipes away the chocolate with his thumb, wishing desperately that he could stop himself, that he weren’t propelled forward by an inevitable momentum.

Killua gasps slightly as Gon touches him, his eyes fluttering closed, and Gon simply can’t help himself. So slowly, trembling only slightly, he strokes Killua’s cheek gently with his hand, watching with fascination and delight as Killua shivers. He trails his knuckles feather-light on the thin, delicate skin beneath Killua’s eye. Killua’s eyes are still closed and that’s a mercy, really, because Gon couldn’t bear to look into them right now, not as he runs the back of his hand from Killua’s forehead and down his jawline. Not as Killua takes a weak, shuddery breath in. Not as Gon strokes down the bridge of Killua’s nose and then--because he’s damned himself anyway, so what’s one more sin, really--runs a finger across Killua’s bottom lip, reveling in how soft and warm it feels against his skin.

And then Gon simply can’t hold back anymore, can’t help but wonder how the warmth and softness of Killua’s mouth would feel against his own, so he cradles Killua’s face in his hand and--

Killua opens his eyes.

For a brief moment they’re so hazy and clouded that Gon’s knees go weak, but then he blinks, and they’re suddenly perfectly clear and wide with shock. Gon tears his hand away from Killua’s face as if he’d been burned, clenching it in a fist at his side, so tight he feels his fingernails bite into his palm.

Killua stares at the ground, flushing red, looking so horribly uncomfortable that Gon can hardly bear it.

“I’ll, uh, clean up the kitchen,” he says, voice low and breathier than usual. “You made the cake, so I’ll take care of all this.”

“Right,” Gon hears himself say, his speech stilted even to his own ears. “I’ve got a timer set on the cake, so you can take it out when it goes off. Um. Be careful not to burn yourself.”

Gon’s familiar with regret, he thinks, as he all but runs into his bedroom and shuts the door behind himself. He’s no stranger to making horrible, catastrophic, apocalyptic mistakes. But this time feels different, somehow. This time feels worse, because there was so much more at stake than ever before. Gon doesn’t fear losing his life. Not really, not when it comes right down to it. But he cannot survive losing Killua. He knows this in his bones.

Gon lies on his bed and grabs his pillow, clutching it tightly to his chest. The worst, most shameful thing about it is that a very small but very desperate part of himself wishes he hadn’t stopped. Wishes he could know how it felt to kiss Killua, even once. Even if it cost him everything. Gon knows he made the right choice; he knows that stopping himself was for the best. But this greedy, awful part of himself is half-convinced it would be a fair trade, to ruin every good thing in his life just to have the memory of kissing Killua.

Gon squeezes the pillow tighter still, as if he could hold it close enough to fill the gaping wound in his chest, and suddenly comes to an inexplicably heartbreaking realization.

He didn’t even get to frost Killua’s cake.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again!!!!! thank you as always for your lovely comments on the last ch!!! i'm so excited to share our conclusion w you!!!!

**5.**

Gon moves past it. Eventually. If he’s learned anything in the past eighteen years, it’s that he can survive. That the things that he feels will kill him, the things he feels certain will destroy him in every way a human being can be destroyed, somehow don’t. Somehow his body endures violence and pain and brutality, time and time again, and manages stubbornly to keep living. So although the wound in his chest, the one that’s splintered apart his ribcage and cracked him clean open, feels like it will kill him, it doesn’t. And Gon continues on.

Even the pain subsides eventually. Gon manages to push the longing and heartbreak and desperation down somewhere quiet and breathe again. And once he’s done with this selfish, maudlin rumination, he picks up where he left off. This whole thing is meant to be about Killua, after all, about showing him kindness and love and affection, and not about Gon’s pathetic yearning. He’d lost sight of that along the way somehow, but he quickly steers himself back towards his goal. He treats Killua with patience and care and speaks to him kindly and does his utmost to make him happy and comfortable.

(Gon doesn’t, however, permit himself to keep touching Killua. That’s lighting a match near a bucket of kerosene and Gon doesn’t want everything to go up in flames.)

And Killua warms to it, over time. After a few weeks of gentle but insistent kindness, Killua doesn’t resist Gon’s gestures so much. He allows himself the occasional comfort, and on rare occasions, does so with a smile. It’s enough. It is. To know that Killua is learning, slowly, to think himself deserving of good things. That’s enough for Gon. Of course that selfish part of him wants more, imagines a life where he can hold Killua, and kiss him on the cheek, and grasp his hand in his own, but that’s to be expected. Gon’s always been greedy with these sorts of things, never fully satisfied with what he has. It’s just who he is. But for the most part, it really is enough.

It’s enough now to go to the sink and wash a handful of fresh strawberries for Killua, ripe and red and enticing. It’s enough to cut them up into careful slices and sprinkle a bit of sugar on top, because there’s never any harm in making things just a bit sweeter. It’s enough to take them into the living room and set them down on the coffee table near Killua with a smile.

Killua, however, doesn’t smile. He stares at the bowl for a long moment, then at Gon, then down towards his feet. He presses his lips together and takes a deep breath.

“I need to ask you something,” Killua says, with an odd tone.

Terror, sharp and cold, floods Gon’s body in an instant. His instincts have been honed over the years into something keen and precise, so simply the way Killua says it makes Gon certain of what he’s about to ask. Killua knows. Killua knows and he’s about to confront Gon and then tell him they need some time apart. And he’ll say it as gently as he can, because it’s Killua, and Killua is never cruel, but it won’t make it hurt any less.

“Okay,” Gon says, doing his utmost to keep his voice steady. “Go ahead.”

Killua hesitates for just a moment, not quite meeting Gon’s eyes.

“Why are you doing all this?”

“Doing what?” Gon asks, heart hammering in his chest so loud he worries Killua might hear.

Killua sighs.

“Don’t play dumb. I’m not an idiot. I’ve noticed that you’ve been doing things for me. Over the past couple months especially _._ And I want to know why.”

Gon can fix this. He can. He can tell only part of the truth, the part that won’t make Killua want to leave. He can make it okay again, can hide all the unforgivable things he feels and convince Killua to stay. He can prove himself worthy of keeping around.

“Because you deserve someone doing nice things for you,” Gon says, forcing cheerfulness. Mercifully, it doesn’t sound entirely false.

Killua’s brow furrows.

“That’s it? That’s the only reason?”

Gon feels like he might be sick. Killua knows. Or suspects, at least. He must have a sense of how Gon feels. He must hate it. He must be seconds away from walking out the door for good.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Gon says, voice surprisingly steady. “You deserve someone doing nice things for you. And I know you didn’t have that very much growing up, so I wanted to give that to you. Because you’re a good person, Killua, and you deserve someone treating you kindly.”

Killua is quiet for a long moment. There’s a strange look on his face that Gon can’t quite place. He must be deciding. He must be deciding whether to leave, and it’s all Gon can do not to fall to his knees and beg him to stay. Not to swear he’ll do anything, anything Killua wants--that he’ll somehow force himself to stop feeling this way, that he’ll atone for it in whatever manner Killua deems fair, that he’ll cut off his own right arm and do it with a smile. It doesn’t matter what Killua wants; Gon would do anything he asks if it’ll convince him not to go.

“I just thought…” Killua begins, quietly, and Gon doesn’t dare to breathe. “Actually, never mind. That’s not important.

Killua stands up from the couch.

“Well, thank you,” he continues, not meeting Gon’s eyes. “For the strawberries and for, you know, all of this. Thank you.”

And with that, Killua picks up the bowl and heads into his bedroom, shutting the door behind himself.

Gon sinks down onto the couch, holding his head in his hands, heart hammering in his chest. The relief flows cool and loose through his limbs. He managed to do it. Killua believed him. He didn’t leave. Gon has never been so grateful, not all his life. Killua didn’t leave him.

But of course there’s a small part of himself, a part he hates, that’s disappointed. Of course there is, because that’s just who Gon is. Never satisfied, always demanding more things he isn’t deserving of. And like last time, that small, awful part of him just can’t accept “good enough.” This awful part of him longs for Killua to feel how Gon feels. It’s not enough that Killua isn’t repulsed, that he isn’t leaving. No, Gon is so greedy that he wants more. He wants Killua to rest his head in Gon’s lap and allow Gon to stroke his hair. He wants to be able to hold Killua when he’s sad and tell him how beautiful his eyes look in the sunlight and press a kiss to the inside of his wrist. Gon can hardly stand himself, how he refuses to be satisfied, how ridiculously ungrateful he is.

But Gon simply can’t help it. He can’t help but yearn to be the person to make Killua happy. It’s ridiculous, of course; what makes him think Killua would want him? What could possibly have convinced him that he’s worth Killua’s affection? But his traitorous heart won’t listen to reason. It merely pounds frantically in his chest as he imagines how it might feel to pull Killua close to his chest and press a gentle kiss to his hair.

Gon lies back on the couch with a groan and covers his eyes with the inside of his elbow. The strangely wistful scent of strawberries lingers, faintly, in the air.

**1.**

Gon forces himself to continue. He has to keep showing Killua kindness. He doesn’t know why, exactly. Perhaps a part of him wants to prove it isn’t selfish. Perhaps a part of him wants to know that he isn’t in this for his own gain, that the priority truly has been Killua all along. Perhaps a part of him simply does like making Killua happy, just gets a warm, delighted thrill from taking care of him. And if Gon feels a small but horribly sharp pain in his chest when the light comes in the window just right and tints Killua’s grateful smile golden, well, perhaps a part of him feels he deserves it.

Today’s task is getting rid of the small, scratchy blanket Killua sleeps with and making his bed with soft sheets and a warm quilt from the hall closet. Killua will be so cozy and comfortable tonight, and Gon feels a profound satisfaction at that. The thought is so nice that there’s hardly an ache in Gon’s chest as he tucks in the corners with care, smooths the blanket, makes sure the pillows rest just so. The deep, piercing longing barely plagues Gon as he makes certain that everything’s perfect, giving the final appraisal of the freshly made bed before leaving the room. There’s hardly a weight in Gon’s gut as he shuts the door behind himself, not if he imagines Killua wiggling down beneath the soft blanket with a satisfied sigh.

Killua’s out running a few errands right now, but the freshly made bed will be a nice surprise for him when he gets home, so Gon busies himself with a few chores around the house and writes a letter to Leorio and Kurapika as he waits. He does some laundry, cleans the kitchen, scrubs the bathtub. Anything that will occupy him enough to keep his thoughts from wandering somewhere dangerous.

At last, just as he’s finishing up the final few lines of the letter in his room, Gon hears the key in the lock. He listens closely as Killua comes in, kicks off his shoes, and heads to his bedroom. Gon can’t help but smile as he imagines Killua seeing the bed, how happy he must be. He’s come a long way from that November afternoon all those months ago. He’ll permit himself these things now--things like a comfortable bed and a warm quilt--and it makes Gon’s heart swell in his chest. Killua’s at last allowing himself to be treated with the kindness he deserves.

After a few long moments, Gon hears the door to Killua’s room open and shut again and there’s a soft, hesitant knock at Gon’s door. Gon beams. Killua must’ve come to thank him.

“Come in,” Gon calls.

Slowly, the door knob turns and the door opens. Killua pauses for a moment in the doorway before coming inside.

“What’s up?” Gon says brightly.

Killua takes a deep breath.

“I need you to stop,” he says.

Gon blinks. 

“Stop?” he repeats.

Killua clenches his fists at his sides.

“Yes,” he says, voice tense with something Gon can’t quite place. “All of these things you’ve been doing for me. I need you to stop.”

Gon’s brow furrows. But it had been going so well, hadn’t it? Killua was allowing himself comforts and pleasures, more and more each day. Why would he possibly reject them now?

“Why?” Gon asks.

“No reason,” Killua says. “I just want you to stop.”

Had Killua perhaps spoken to his family without Gon noticing? Did they somehow get in his head again, convince him to deny himself any nice things?

Regardless, Gon has to find a way to talk him out of this. He can’t allow all the work of the past few months to come undone. He can’t allow Killua to go back to that awful, self-imposed deprivation.

“Give me a reason first,” Gon says. There, he’ll find an opening. He’ll find a weak point and he’ll manage to change Killua’s mind.

Killua is quiet for a long moment.

“It’s hurting me,” he says at last, voice soft. “Is that a good enough reason?”

“Hurting you?” Gon repeats. “Why?”

Killua doesn’t answer.

“It’s because you feel like you don’t deserve it, right?” Gon continues. “That’s it. You feel like you don’t deserve any kindness and that’s why you want me to stop.”

Killua clenches his jaw.

“No, Gon,” he says, voice bordering on anger. “That’s not it. Can we please just stop talking about this?”

“No! It shouldn’t hurt you when people are kind to you.”

Something sharp and pained flashes in Killua’s eyes.

“It’s not ‘people,’ Gon. Okay? It’s you!”

All at once, Gon’s throat and chest clench, sudden and agonizing. His whole body feels tense and hot and horribly sick. 

Of course. He should have known, shouldn’t he? Killua’s smart. Surely he’s realized it by now, realized exactly how Gon feels. He’s realized and he can’t stand it. And he was trying to let Gon down gently, but Gon had just pushed and pushed because that’s what he does. Because he’s always too much--too forceful and too loud and too goddamn stupid. If only he had kept his mouth shut just once. Killua was trying to be kind about it, and Gon had given him no other choice but to tell him bluntly. It’s his own fault, how awful it feels to hear Killua say that, because he’d forced it. He just couldn’t leave well enough alone.

“No,” Killua says hurriedly. “Gon, I’m sorry. That came out wrong. I was just trying to say that--”

“So you know, right?” Gon says softly. “That’s why you’re telling me this.”

Killua’s brow furrows.

“Know what?”

Gon has imagined this situation, certainly. He’s laid awake at night worrying what would happen if Killua found out. How it would feel when Killua inevitably rejected him. He’s played out this conversation dozens of times, each iteration slightly different, and he’d imagined how horrible he’d feel in each one. He’d pictured it, as vividly and completely as he could manage. How his stomach would churn. How his skin would flush hot. How his throat would become unbearably tight. How he’d feel cornered and terrified and indescribably desperate. But somehow, the real thing manages to be so infinitely worse than he’d ever imagined.

“I should’ve known,” Gon says, unable to keep the heartbreak out of his voice. “I’ve never exactly been subtle about these sorts of things. I’m sorry. Please, just know that it started with good intentions. It did. When it began, I just wanted to be good to you. That’s all it was. Really. But I can never do anything right. Not these sorts of things, anyway. Not without my own feelings and wants spoiling it. When I… when I touched your mouth, I must’ve crossed such a boundary. That was it, right? When you figured it out? I’m sorry. I’ll stop, Killua. I won’t keep doing anything that’ll make you uncomfortable. I won’t. The last thing I would ever want to do would be to make you unhappy.”

Killua gets an odd look on his face, part confusion and part anticipation and part flushed red cheeks.

“Feelings?” he says slowly. “Gon, what do you mean by feelings?”

Gon clenches his jaw.

“I know I shouldn’t ask any more of you. I know I shouldn’t, because you don’t owe me anything in this situation. And because I know I don’t deserve any more of your patience and understanding, not when I’ve acted how I did. But just...” Gon’s voice begins to shake and he clenches his fists tight at his sides and wills himself not to cry. “Please, if I can ask you one thing. Please don’t leave. However you want me to fix this, whatever you think is fair, I’ll do it. I’ll do it in a heartbeat. Just please don’t leave.”

Gon can’t help how his voice cracks at the end, not with the room pressing in tighter and tighter on him, squeezing the air from his lungs.

“Gon, slow down,” Killua says, a strange anticipation in his voice. “I, um, I think we might be misunderstanding each other. I was asking you to stop because I felt a certain way about everything, and I was too close to doing something rash.”

“Something rash?”

A strange look flashes in Killua’s eyes, part terror and part determination. A look of someone passing a point of no return.

“I was so close to kissing you,” he says, voice unsteady. “So many times, Gon.”

It’s as if Gon has broken the surface only moments from drowning. The unbearable weight disappears from his chest and air flows so cool and sweet into his lungs that he can’t help but gasp. The terror eases; he’s no longer facing a dark, awful, suffocating end, and he’s shaky and weak with relief. Even the room itself looks brighter, as if he’s only just now able to see the sun. Gravity no longer drags him farther and farther down. No, he’s floating, weightless and buoyant in the water again.

“Please,” Gon says, voice hoarse. It’s the only thing he can think to say.

“Please?”

“Please kiss me.”

Killua’s eyes go wide and he hesitates for just a moment, everything hanging suspended, lingering, in the air. Gon waits, counting the every beat of his heart. One. Two. Three. Four. Fi--

And then Killua is stepping forward and Gon is rising from his chair to meet him and before Gon can even tell who started it, they’re kissing.

It’s too many sensations for Gon to keep track of. Killua’s mouth on his own--warm and soft and just this side of desperate. Killua’s hands looped around the back of his neck, weaving through his hair and tugging gently. Killua’s body wrapped in Gon’s arms, solid and warm. Killua’s barely perceptible gasp as Gon strokes his waist. Killua now, pulling Gon down more insistently, kissing him harder, the pressure and warmth and pleasure reaching a crescendo. Gon can’t recall anything in his life that’s ever felt better, can’t imagine anything that ever will. There’s nothing but Killua--nothing but his mouth and his skin and the warmth of his body. It’s suddenly all Gon knows. All he’ll ever know.

At last, Killua pulls back. He’s breathing hard, his cheeks flushed and his mouth red and his pupils blown wide. Gon feels the swoop in his stomach all the way down to his toes and it’s all he can do not to kiss him again, immediately.

“You are so stupid,” Killua says, voice hoarse and breathy. His arms are still looped around Gon’s neck and Gon’s still holding him by the waist.

“How do you mean?” Gon replies.

“You really didn’t think I felt like this? After everything?”

Gon’s face gets warm.

“It’s just... you’re amazing, Killua. You’re perfect. You could have anyone you wanted.”

“Yeah?” Killua murmurs. “Well, I’ve only ever wanted you.”

He reaches up and cradles Gon’s face, stroking a thumb over his cheekbone.

“And I only ever will.”

And that is simply too much, so Gon does the only thing he can think to do, pulling Killua closer by the waist and kissing him with everything he has.

“You too,” Gon murmurs when he pulls back, his forehead pressed to Killua’s. “Forever. It’ll only ever be you, Killua. It'll only ever be you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thank you so very much for reading <3 still replying to comments, still very active on [tumblr](https://storybookprincess.tumblr.com/) should you care to say hello!!!! have a great rest of your day/night!!!! xo


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